


A World on Fire

by soraxtsuna123



Series: The Outsiders Requests [6]
Category: The Outsiders - All Media Types, The Outsiders - S. E. Hinton
Genre: Childhood Trauma, Forced Prostitution, Gen, Human Trafficking, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Kidnapping, Ponyboy Curtis-centric, Self-Harm, Self-Hatred, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soraxtsuna123/pseuds/soraxtsuna123
Summary: When Ponyboy was six, he was kidnapped. Years later, he was found inside of a house fire.
Series: The Outsiders Requests [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821424
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	A World on Fire

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Bears8](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Bears8).



> Request by Bears8 on FFN.
> 
> No requests accepted on this platform.

It was a beautiful fall day. The birds were chirping melodious songs and a cool breeze swept inside the open windows of the houses. In one house, in particular, a happy family was enjoying the evening. The mother was in the kitchen, plopping meatloaf in the oven. A huge smile was plastered on her makeup-caked face as she slid off the oven mitts that she was wearing, placing them precariously on the counter. She glanced over to a little boy who was hanging upside down on the sofa. His stubby fingers flipped a page to _Charlotte's Web_. Although he was only six years old, he was already moving onto the more advanced books for his age. He was so smart, and his mother could already tell that he was going to grow up well.

"Ponyboy," she called out, knowing that he would have no problem with staying indoors all day, "why don't you put your book down and go play outside for a bit? It's a beautiful day and you need your exercise."

The boy looked up, nodding vigorously. He wedged his colorful bookmark between the pages and dropped the book on the coffee table. He flipped back over, face flush from the position that he was in before.

"Okay, Mommy," he chirped, giggling as he started to run out the door.

"Just until dinner is ready, okay?" the mother said.

"Okay!"

Ponyboy rushed out onto the front lawn which had plastic toys littered across it. He plopped down, feeling the lawn soak through his pants, but he didn't mind. He picked up his favorite toy—a red firetruck. He loved it because of his strong admiration for firemen. They were so heroic, saving people from deadly fires. They seemed like they were warm and cuddly, as they used their strong arms to protect people like a shield. Most kids were in love with astronauts. A couple of weeks ago, Sputnik was launched. Many adults had been tense since then, but kids, however, were ecstatic about the concept of space. Ponyboy was too, but he stayed loyal to his firetruck. He always imagined the firemen as his older brothers. Darry was strong and brave while Soda was handsome and protective. Even though they probably wouldn't become firemen in the future, they were still that in his heart.

He drove the firetruck through the jungle of grass, creating siren sounds with his mouth. He didn't notice the approaching figure until they were right at the fence.

"Hey, kid, what are you doing?" the man asked, causing Ponyboy to jump and drop his toy. He whipped his head towards the towering, muscular stranger, eyes wide. The man looked scary. His head was shaved down and there was a large tattoo on his neck of a badly drawn skull. He looked like one of those guys his father always told him to stay away from. But the tattoo and muscles weren't what scared Ponyboy the most. It was his eyes. Despite the smile, his eyes weren't at all happy. They were like two voids, sucking in any light within it.

"I'm playing hero," Ponyboy responded. He shifted in his spot, giving the stranger a nervous smile.

The man's grin grew wider, but it still looked fake. "Hero? By any chance, do you want to become a hero in the future?"

"I don't think I can."

"Don't say that," the man tutted. "Anyone can be a hero and they get all the rewards."

"Heroes aren't supposed to take rewards."

"Sure, they can. It's rude not to take someone's gift. You wouldn't want to upset someone, right?"

"No!" Ponyboy rapidly shook his head. The red flags that had been blaring before had muted just like that. "I don't want to make them sad!"

"Then you'll make a fine hero. How about I get you a reward for this?"

And just like that, the red flags came back. Ponyboy shifted away from the stranger. He glanced towards the house, wondering if he should just run in. "I'm not supposed to go anywhere with strangers."

The grin that was on the man's face fell to a frown. "But that makes me sad. I offered you a gift and you're not taking it. I thought you said that you didn't want to make anyone sad."

"I did!"

The man's lips became flat, eyes boring into Ponyboy's very soul. "Then are you scared? Heroes aren't supposed to be scared."

"I'm not scared!" Ponyboy huffed, crossing his arms over his puffed-up chest. "I'm brave!"

"That's not what I just saw. You're a _scaredy-cat_."

"I'm not!" Ponyboy pounded his little fists against the grass. "I'm not! I'm not! I'll prove it too, mister!"

Shooting up to his feet, Ponyboy patted at his grass-stained bottoms before he stomped over to the man's van. The idea that he could have been predator was long gone, fogged over by his pride. The man slowly opened the side door. It let out a long screech that was like a wail of a banshee. Ponyboy had to cover his ears as he watched it to reveal… absolutely nothing.

"Mister, where's the reward?" Ponyboy asked, a pit forming in his stomach.

"You are the reward," the man spat. Before Ponyboy could let out a scream, he felt someone slam into the back of his head, knocking him out.

* * *

* * *

"Ponyboy it's time for dinner!" Mrs. Curtis called out. She was about to head back to the kitchen, but there was no reply from outside. She tried again just in case he didn't hear her, but, again, there was no answer. Curiously, she peeked out the door, scanning the lawn for her son… but he wasn't anywhere in sight. She got a sick feeling, guns going off inside of her stomach. "Ponyboy? It's dinner time!"

Maybe… he was inside. She hoped that he was. Mrs. Curtis rushed towards the bathroom, slamming the door open. Nobody was inside. She went to Ponyboy's room. There was nobody. Panicking now, Mrs. Curtis screamed, "Ponyboy? Where are you? Stop hiding!"

"Mom, what's wrong?" Darry asked, looking outside his room. Soda, who slept in the same bedroom looked out as well.

"What's going on?" Soda questioned, blinking away the exhaustion in his eyes. The commotion had woken him up from an evening nap.

"Have any of you seen Ponyboy? I can't find him anywhere."

"He's probably playing hide-and-seek. You know how good he is at that game."

"He's not playing hide-and-seek. He was just outside a second ago."

"Did something happen to him?" Darry asked.

The look on Mrs. Curtis's face was enough proof that Pony wasn't playing a game and that something bad occurred. She bit her bottom lip, so much panic spewing off of her in waves. "Help me look for him. Darry, go fetch your father."

Nodding, Darry scurried off to his father's room. He had also been taking a nap. It was a nice day, after all. The family was soon tearing the house apart to look for the youngest son. But with each passing second, the more their hearts cracked. He wasn't anywhere. If he were, Ponyboy would have jumped out of his hiding spot the moment he heard his mother wail.

"Ponyboy!" they screamed, receiving no answer. Mrs. Curtis was in full hysterics at this point, muttering like a mantra, 'not my baby, please, not my baby.' The family had never seen her like this. She had always been strong, a smile on her face as she took care of them. Never once did it fall off, even if she was faced with a hardship. It made the experience even more heart wrenching to them.

"Maybe he walked off somewhere," the father theorized, trying to help his wife. He hugged her close, petting his hand down her back. "Let me make some calls to see if anyone had seen him on the street, okay?"

Mrs. Curtis nodded, sinking down on the soda and cried her eyes out. Soda and Darry passed each other a look before sitting down next to her, hugging her tightly.

"Don't cry. He'll be back," Darry soothed. He was also trying to reassure himself.

But he was never back. Ponyboy had been declared missing within that week. A month after that, he was declared dead.

* * *

* * *

Ponyboy woke up to the sound of something dripping. He blinked open his eyes, trying to adjust to the darkness that surrounded him. At first, he thought that he was in a garage for whatever reason. The smell of gasoline was pungent in the air, making his nose curl. It took a long time for him to register his situation and where he was actually in. He was in a basement. The only light was from the small windows near the ceiling. His hands were zip-tied behind him, his back pressing painfully into a metal, support beam.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

A whimper left Ponyboy's mouth as he struggled to free himself. Where was he? He didn't know where he was. Where was his family? It was scary down there. The darkness consumed him, hiding monsters within the shadows.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

His crying got louder to the point where he was bawling. It was so loud, that the person who had taken him came downstairs. When the door opened, Ponyboy froze, eyes growing wide as he watched the buff man stomp down the stairs one after the other. Each step reverberated through his soul, sounding more like gunshots than anything else.

"Hey there," the man said, that creepy smile on his face, somehow being more so in the lighting. It only made Ponyboy cry harder.

"Where… Where am I? Why did you take me?" Ponyboy asked, words almost incomprehensible with how much he was sobbing and hiccupping.

"You're going to make me a good amount of money. A lot of people would kill for someone as young as you."

Ponyboy didn't understand what he meant by that. He continued to pull on the zip ties, feeling his skin burn from under it as it rubbed against his wrists. "Wh-What do you mean?"

But the man didn't answer him. Instead, he reached forward and grabbed his bicep. His large hands curled around it like it was as thin as a twig. "You're such a pretty child. Do you know that?"

The boy shook his head, a strained sound escaping his throat. He thrashed to try to shake the hand off, but it only got tighter. "Let me go, mister! I don't like this! _Let me go_!"

The smile that was on the man's face suddenly face turned to a snarl. The grip got even tighter if that was possible. "You're going to like it here once I teach you to."

"Let me go!" Ponyboy started to scream, kicking his legs uselessly. The pain around his wrists was getting too much. He needed to get out of there! "Let go!"

A kick landed against the man's shin causing him one of his eyes to twitch in irritation. The hand tightened around him, making it feel like it was about to snap under the pressure. "You're going to need a lot of work. Luckily, I have all the time in the world."

The grip on his arm was let go and Ponyboy almost let out a sigh of relief. But his face was grabbed by his ginormous hands, head being slammed back against the metal pole. Pain spread through his body like electricity, sending stars dancing around the dark basement. A choked cry left Pony's mouth as his head was slammed back again, this time harder, not quite powerful enough to knock him out.

"Stop!" Ponyboy begged, snot running out of his nose. "Mommy! Daddy! Help me!"

"Nobody is going to come save you," the man hissed, leaning close to Ponyboy's ear. He let go of his head. "You're lucky that bruises won't attract many customers or otherwise I would have skinned you. Now, are you going to behave?"

He should have shut up, but adrenaline and terror were running through his veins. All he could think about was escaping. He kicked again, this time managing to put a foot in the man's stomach. "Let me go!"

The man grunted but didn't look fazed in the slightest. He stood up. "Fine… I'm just going to have to find a new way to make you comply."

"What… What do you mean?"

There was a long pause.

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The sound of what he could only assume was gasoline was already driving him insane.

"Your parents are quite special to you," the man finally spoke after minutes of silence. Ponyboy felt his blood run cold. "It would be a real shame if an accident were to happen that would cost their lives."

Murder. It was a word that he once read in a book. He didn't know what it meant so he had asked his dad about it. He said that the word meant that one person was the result of someone's death… to not be alive. Passed on early like if he squished a bug. He wasn't really sure about what that all meant completely, but he knew that it was bad. Ponyboy had a feeling that the man was going to murder his parents.

But that couldn't be so. His parents were invincible. Nothing could kill them. They were strong and brave. They would take care of this man and then come save him. And that was when he made one of the dumbest moves in his short life. He kicked the man again.

"Fine," the man snarled. "Have it your way. I'll be right back."

The man stormed off, leaving Ponyboy back in the dark again. It was days later when he returned. As soon as he slammed open the basement door, the smell of smoke hit him like a wrecking ball. It got stronger the closer the man got. He fished inside his pocket, pulling out a few polaroid photos. They fluttered to the ground in front of Ponyboy, illuminated by the morning light that came from the window. It was hard to look at from his angle, but the images were clear.

He saw their car first. It was crashed against a pole that rammed the hood in. It wasn't too far in, but the damage was enough to make him cringe. Another photo was closer up. He saw his parents, leaning forward. Their heads were resting against the dashboard and the steering wheel. He couldn't see his mother's face clearly, having it facing away from the camera. But his father would bring him nightmares. His face was caved in, part of the steering wheel was sticking inside of his skull. Blood was covering his entire face like a mask, mouth ajar. Another photo was from afar again. This time, the car was consumed in flames. The last photo was another close-up. The fire had died down quite a bit in that photo, but that did not salvage his parents' bodies. Every inch of their body was blackened or peeled. All hair had burnt off, making it almost impossible to tell the two apart. It was obvious that they were dead. Murdered. His parents were gone, and it was his fault.

A loud sob left Ponyboy's mouth as he screamed so hard that he blew out his voice box. But he continued to scream even though only squeaks came out, making him sound like a squeaky toy.

"The next time you are out of line, I'll go after your brothers," the man spat in his ear.

* * *

* * *

Sirens blared as emergency vehicles blared down the road. They zoomed past the cars that had pulled respectfully to the side. Smoke clouded over the sky, creating a blanket that blocked the sun rays from hitting the ground and making it look like it was nighttime. The smoke was bad—one of the worst cases that the firemen had seen from a regular house fire. But the credit did have to go to the burning area around it, spreading like a wave on the dry grass. The firemen were happy that not too many houses were nearby, but it was still worrisome. They had to control it as soon as possible or else it would be a huge problem.

When they arrived at the house that they were sent to by a distress call, the firemen were able to see the full intensity of the fire. As they exited the firetrucks, masks already on and working, they looked up at the towering flames. They were so tall that it was as if a giant dragon was constantly breathing fire on it.

"Jesus," one guy breathed out. "There's no way anyone is alive in there."

"We don't know that," another said.

"They probably already been suffocated if they haven't been burned alive."

"What are you doing? Move!" another fireman ordered as he helped set up the equipment. It didn't take long for blasts of water to hit the house with amazing force. It also didn't take long for the rescue team to enter the house.

It was worse on the inside. They were instantly consumed by the darkness of the smoke. Through their suits, they felt the heat of the fire. It was hot, despite the protection—so hot that it was almost like they weren't being protected by anything at all. The floor creaked under their boots before they lowered themselves to be able to crawl through all of the fallen beams. This was their least favorite part of the job. It was claustrophobic and they couldn't see even an inch in front of them. They didn't know where the floors were the weakest and they didn't know what might accidentally knock their masks to the side. It was life-threatening, something all of them knew about when they were getting into the career.

Suddenly, the floor caved from under one of the firemen, sending him crashing to the basement below. He groaned, thankful that his mask wasn't hit to the side or that he wasn't impaled.

The smoke wasn't as bad in the basement. Most of it had risen. So, the fireman was able to look around without the obstruction of the smoke. Sweat pooled down his temples as he scanned the area before his eyes fell upon an unconscious boy, probably in the early teenage years. His skin was covered, darkened with burn marks and ash. Despite the condition of the house, the injuries on the boy weren't bad. What was bad, however, was the fact that he wasn't breathing.

The fireman quickly and cautiously scrambled over to him, lifting him up and freeing himself from the debris that fell onto him. He cradled the boy in his arms, hugging him close. He was probably dead, there was no way to be sure with his protective gear on, but he still had to get the body out. There was a beep, telling him that his oxygen was almost out. He had to get out of there and soon.

Leaving the house was even harder than getting in. But, eventually, the fireman stepped outside. He made it to the paramedics, setting the boy down. As soon as he did that, he grabbed a new oxygen mask that was brought to him by a paramedic, placing it around the boy's mouth. He removed his heavy gloves, touching it down on his overheated neck to feel for a pulse. It might have been hopeful thinking, but he didn't want to believe that this boy was dead.

It was faint, but there was a heartbeat. He breathed out a sigh of relief, but the boy still wasn't breathing correctly. He wondered if he should perform CPR on him, but it seemed like he didn't need to. Out of nowhere, the boy gasped out, eyes snapping open. They instantly shot to the fireman in fear.

"Relax. You're safe now," the fireman soothed. "I'm a fireman."

"Fire…man," the boy croaked, coughing under the mask. It was as if those words were sedatives as he relaxed. His green-gray eyes drooped before closing completely. "Hero…"

* * *

* * *

"You cheated, man!" Stave cried out, slamming his cards on the table. "Don't think that I didn't see you."

The Curtis's house was bustling like it always was. Well, almost always. There had been three times where the house had been void of the joyous greasers. The first time had been when Ponyboy Curtis went missing (and later declared dead). It had been seven years since then. It had also been seven years since the second silence had happened: the deaths of Soda's and Darry's parents. They were killed in a car accident when they were on the way home from the police station. It was some brake failure, which was weird since the car had been recently checked for any problems and there wasn't any that was found—certainly not a brake problem. They were both devastated, feeling hollow on the inside. Within a week they had lost their family. It was such a freak happening that they had reporters down their necks for a month. People around them whispered about them behind their backs, pointing at them in fake sympathy.

The third time that the house was void of greasers was when they were told that they would have to abandon the house and their friends to live with a relative. Luckily, Two-Bit's mother stepped in, somehow convincing the state to take care of them. Although she struggled with money, she didn't think twice about doing it as well as paying for the house that the boy's held so dear. Soda and Darry felt so bad about it that they behaved as well as they could to make it easier for the family. As soon as Darry was old enough, he gained custody over Soda and moved back into his house.

"No, I didn't!" Two-Bit argued like a child.

"Yes, you did!" Steve snapped back.

"You don't have any proof. Now give me my prize."

"Not a chance, man," Dally stepped in, placing his cards down for display. "I got a full house."

A loud groan left Two-Bit's mouth as he crashed back into the chair in defeat. The gang all laughed, reshuffling the cards.

All of a sudden, the phone rang, and the gang all shut their mouth. It was a weird moment. Usually, the gang would talk over the ringing. But something about this call was different. They didn't know what it was, but they all had this feeling that something major was about to happen.

"Hello?" Darry answered after he picked up.

"Hello," came a voice, "is this Darrel Curtis?"

"It is. Who is this?"

"My name is Carol from St. Johns Medical Center. I'm calling to inform you that your brother, Ponyboy, had been found and brought to the ER."

And just like that, everything shifted. The name was like a trigger word as a countless amount of different emotions hit him like a truck. It was overwhelming as his heart leaped to his throat. He must have been hearing things. Ponyboy was dead, after all. "Can you…. Can you repeat that? Who's in the hospital?"

"Ponyboy, your brother. He _is_ your brother, isn't he?"

The gang all watched tentatively as Darry answered the call, concern filling their every core when they heard his voice break. When he hung up, the gang instantly bombarded him with questions.

"Who was that?" Soda asked, voice raised over the rest of the gang.

"The… The hospital…" Darry answered, turning to Soda. That was when the gang saw the tears in his eyes. Never before had any of them seen him cry. He was always an unbreakable, stone wall. But even something as large and tough as the Titanic had its own iceberg that broke him down and opened the flood gates.

"What did they say?"

Darry stared at Soda with a watery smile. "They found him, Soda. They found him."

"Who did they find?" Johnny asked but Soda knew who. His hands shot to his mouth as he started to cry as well, baffling the gang.

"Ponyboy… He's alive."

* * *

* * *

It only took a few minutes to arrive at the hospital. They probably broke a dozen laws just getting there. They took two separate cars. The gang didn't really know Ponyboy. They knew that he existed from the photos that they had seen, but it was a sore subject that they never pried into. The only people that knew him that wasn't Soda and Darry were Steve and Two-Bit. They were the two that had been around the longest.

As soon as the cars were parked, they all booked it towards the receptionist, who looked started when they practically slammed themselves into her desk.

"We're here to see Ponyboy Curtis," Soda gasped out.

"Ponyboy is still being treated," she informed after looking through her book. "You're going to have to wait."

Nodding, they all went to sit down in the waiting area. That time there felt like the longest ever. There was a buzz flowing through all of them as they watched the flurry of doctors, nurses, and policemen scurry down the hallway. They tapped their feet against the tile, eyes glued to the ticking away clock. They were so close to him, it was surreal. It was almost like a dream.

Finally, after what felt like forever a doctor walked out.

"Family of Ponyboy Curtis?" he called out and the gang all stood up.

"Is he alright?" Darry asked.

The doctor nodded. "He's alright. He's asleep right now but I don't know how long it's going to be that way. He could wake up at any time. He is suffering from some major burns and has a few broken ribs. Other than that, he's perfectly fine… but that doesn't include the psychological damage. It's really miraculous how he got out of the fire relatively fine. You may see him, but I would recommend being careful and not overwhelm him."

Nodding, they thanked him. There were only supposed to be two people visiting at a time, something that they were told by the receptionist when they asked where Ponyboy's room was. The gang ended up going home with Soda and Darry being the only ones going into the room.

They weren't prepared to look inside but they were excited, nevertheless. Inside on the bed was a young teenager. His skin was pale, despite some patches being darkened, red, and peeling. He was thin, bones sticking out. He didn't look like the Ponyboy that they knew. But there was something so familiar about him—unlocking a part of their life. Even though they hadn't seen him in years, they could still tell that it was him. He still had a babyface, although it was roughed up now. It was him though. They felt tears sting their eyes.

He was there right in front of them. He was alive. They mourned his supposed death, finally accepting it after months of pain. They had thought that they were the unluckiest people in the world with how much death was around them, but now there was a bright light.

"The kid's still out?" a policeman said, poking his head in. "Are you his brothers?"

"We are. Can you tell us what happened? Where was he?" Darry asked.

"We found him in a burning house. We have no idea how the fire started. They're still looking for the source. But we are looking at a cigarette and gasoline. He was kidnapped by a terrible man who died in the fire." The policeman looked at Ponyboy, swallowing the saliva in his mouth. "You should be warry around him."

"Why?"

"Because the man was identified as Carl Fields. He had been a suspect for trafficking for years… specifically sex trafficking. We suspect that Ponyboy had been forced to do sexual jobs since he went missing."

At those words, their hearts dropped. Their eyes widened as they looked at Ponyboy. They couldn't picture him being forced to do such things.

"No way…" Soda mumbled, sniffing. Ponyboy went through that? He was raped practically every day and they were there trying to live their lives.

"But he's just a kid," Darry argued, not wanting to believe it.

"It doesn't matter. The younger they are the better," the policeman nonchalantly said as if it was normal. He awkwardly shifted on his feet. "When he wakes up, call for me or another officer. We would like to question him about it so we can investigate more."

The policeman left and Soda turned to Darry.

"Darry," he started, but didn't have to say anything else.

"I know," Darry muttered, clenching his fists. He didn't want to believe what he heard either.

"He was… He was…" Soda couldn't even say it. Tears were freefalling from his eyes, sniffing loudly. "And we didn't do anything about it."

Darry pulled him into a tight hug, rubbing his hand against his back in soothing circles. Soda dug his face into his shoulder, making his shirt damp. He sobbed loudly, clinging onto his brother for dear life. He blurted out noncoherent words, but Darry knew they were about how terrible they were and how they could have gotten Ponyboy back a lot earlier because he felt the same way. He was glad that he was hugging because it allowed him to hide his snotty face and if he wasn't holding onto something, he might have punched his fist right through the wall.

"We could have played with him that day. We were there in the house. He wouldn't have been taken if we had played with him," Soda continued, dragging his forehead to rest on Darry's chest.

"There was no way for us to know that he was going to be taken," Darry reasoned. He wasn't sure if the reasoning was to bring some peace to his mind or Soda's. "It's okay, buddy, he's here now. He's alive and he's going to be fine. Nothing's going to happen to him again. We'll make sure of it. We just have to be there for him right now."

Soda nodded and the two of them sat down, wanting to take Ponyboy's hands. They held themselves back, however, when they saw their bandaged state. The day soon turned into night. None of them moved from their spot except to go to the bathroom. They wanted to be the first people that Ponyboy gets to see when he wakes up.

Finally, after long, grueling hours of waiting, a quiet groan left Ponyboy's mouth. As if being woken up by an alarm clock, the two brothers jolted up, any sign of exhaustion disappearing. Their eyes widened, heart pumping, as Ponyboy's eyes slowly opened. His eyes, that were once a brilliantly shining green-gray, were muddied down and dull. Despite how young he looked, his eyes made him seem a lot older. For a while, they stared at the ceiling, unblinking like he was dead to the world. Then when he realized that he wasn't alone in the room, Ponyboy tensed up. His eyes snapped towards the two, no recognition in them. He tried to back up, but his body betrayed him, causing his face to scrunch up in pain.

Darry and Soda looked at each other. It was heartbreaking. Did Ponyboy not recognize them? And did he think that they were going to do something to him? Something that… wrong? That sick feeling returned.

"Hey, how are you feeling?" Soda softly asked to reassure Ponyboy that he was a nice person. He put up his best smile—the best one that he could muster in his current emotional state. It wasn't really good, however. His smile was watery, lips twitching in the corners. "Do you remember us?"

For a long time, Ponyboy stared at them. His guard never dropped in the slightest. He stiffly shook his head, keeping his mouth shut.

"I'm Soda and this is Darry," Soda continued. "We're your brothers."

Brothers… That word echoed in Ponyboy's head. His brothers had been in his head for years. They were the only thoughts that he held onto while he was kidnapped. If he didn't have brothers, Ponyboy would have taken his life years ago or at least tried to have escaped. But he had to keep his brothers safe no matter what, even if that meant exploiting himself. He looked the two up and down. He hardly remembered what they looked like—he held onto the warm feeling of growing up with them only. The people before him emitted the same warmness, making his defenses falter for a second. If these were really his brothers that would have meant that the man kept his promise about not touching them if he cooperated. But that didn't mean that they were safe. If he was in what seemed to be a hospital, that would mean he was found, and the man would come and kill them.

Breath hitching, Ponyboy's eyes shifted around the room in a panic. He could be in the room, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

A hand touched his arm, causing him to jolt away. The hand instantly pulled back and instead, Darry soothed, "You're going to be okay now. We got you. Nobody is going to hurt you no more. The man that took you isn't here anymore. He was killed in the fire. He's gone."

Gone… Fire… Accident… Ponyboy looked forward at the two new figures that stood at the end of his bed—a burnt-to-a-crisp man and woman. Their skins were black, empty sockets stirring blankly at him.

"Mom and Dad…" Ponyboy croaked, speaking his first words since waking up. He blinked and when he reopened his eyes, the burnt figures were gone.

Soda and Darry's eyes became somber, glancing at each other again.

"Mom and Dad aren't here either. They were killed in a car accident not that long after you were taken," Darry explained, causing Ponyboy to cringe.

It wasn't an accident. They were murdered and only Ponyboy knew that. He was the only one who knew the truth.

"I'm sorry," Ponyboy whimpered, voice shaking. "It's my fault."

"Nothing's your fault," Soda reassured. "You didn't do anything. You weren't there."

"It's my fault. I killed them."

Soda shook his head. "Why do you keep saying that? You didn't do anything."

_They'll hate you. Your brothers will get rid of you and sell you._

The voice was loud and clear in his head, causing him to withdrawal within himself. He clamped his mouth shut.

"Ponyboy…" Soda started, using something that Ponyboy hadn't heard in a long time. When he was taken, so was his name. They called him by dehumanizing terms; never his name. It sounded foreign to him. It didn't fit quite right. "You didn't do anything. You're safe now."

Safe. Was he really safe? The man was dead. He should have felt relief. However, all he could feel was fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of other people. Fear of himself.

* * *

* * *

It took time, but eventually, Ponyboy was allowed to return home. Darry and Soda had brought over people to meet him—their friends. He didn't recognize any of them, but apparently, he knew Steve and Two-Bit before he was kidnapped.

When he first met them, he instantly panicked. A room filled with unfamiliar men that were excited to see him. He remembered all of the men whose faces were scarred into his brain. He remembered the bulges in their pants and could taste their salty cocks down his throat. The only physical difference between the people that were currently before him and the ones that he had to have sex with were the eyes. They weren't lustful like how theirs were.

Transitioning was hard for everyone, especially when Ponyboy didn't seem to take any initiative in becoming better. The gang tried their best to not touch him in any way. Even the slightest touch—a hug or a pat on the back—could have triggered him into a panic attack. He almost never spoke to them, keeping himself tucked away from them for as long as he could. They tried to be there for him, but how could they when Ponyboy wouldn't let them in? Not even his therapist or the police could get him to really open up about anything.

There was one person that was able to get somewhere with him, and it was unexpected. It was Dally's turn to watch the kid that day. Ponyboy was in his room like usual, keeping the lights on even during the daytime. Dally knew that he didn't like it when anyone, but his brothers were around him. He was fine with that too. He wasn't the greatest at comforting people so if Ponyboy wanted space, he would be more than happy to give him it. That was until he heard the choked sobs.

"Hey, kid, you alright in there?" he called out, craning his neck to see if the bedroom door was open. It wasn't. He waited for Ponyboy to answer him, but no voice replied to his question. Sighing, Dally got up, loping over to the door. He rapped his fingers across the wood board, scratching at the back of his neck. Again, there was no answer. "I'm coming in."

He opened the door, looking around the room until he saw Ponyboy thrashing around in his bed. He kicked his feet, arching his back like he was possessed. Tears were streaming down his face, loud sobs escaping his mouth. It wasn't the first time that Dally had seen Ponyboy go through a nightmare. The first time, he had watched Soda rush to his side to comfort him. It was, however, his first time being the person who had to take care of it.

"Shit," Dally hissed under his breath as he practically threw himself on the bed to pin down Ponyboy's flailing, burnt limbs. However, it only made things worse. He started to scream bloody murder. He screeched his throat raw, shaking Dally to the very bone. He had never heard someone scream so badly.

"No!" Ponyboy screeched. "I don't want to do it! Don't touch me!"

At first, Dally thought that he had woken up and was talking to him, but Ponyboy kept his eyes clamped shut. "Damnit, kid, wake up!"

He started to shake the kid, lightly slapping his cheek to see if that would do anything. Nothing worked. He recalled the times when he saw Soda wake him up, how he had cradled him, and whispered soothing, unheard words into his ears for however long it took until he woke up. They only ever laid their hands on him when he was having a nightmare. Dally wasn't the comforting type—like he said—but he stopped shaking him because he knew that he was being too rough. He held him in his arms, making sure not to let go. Eventually, he stopped struggling and became so still that it almost seemed like he was dead.

All of a sudden, Ponyboy's eyes snapped open and he inhaled sharply, gasping for air. He was sweating like a pig. His sweat covered his pale skin in a thick layer. His head turned to Dally, expecting to see Soda or even Darry. He was not expecting to see anyone else, let alone Dally who was one of the most intimidating people in the gang. His eyes widened as pushed away from them, cringing at the shot of pain that went through him. Dally let him move away.

"That was some nightmare, man," he commented, awkwardly sitting up straighter. Ponyboy only stared at him, trying to calm himself down.

 _It was only Dally_ , he repeated like a mantra in his head. His heartbeat slowed down but was still pounding against his chest.

"What was the nightmare about?" Dally asked, but again, Ponyboy kept his mouth shut. An irritated sigh escaped the older greaser. "You know, kid, you're never going to get better if you keep shutting people out. I'm offering you an ear, so tell me what's wrong."

"There's nothing wrong," Ponyboy whispered, tucking his shaking, bandaged hands under his armpits.

"Bullshit!" Dally slammed his fist against the mattress, causing the younger boy to flinch. He instantly felt bad and took a shaky breath. Combing his hair back with his fingers, Dally moved so that he was sitting next to Ponyboy against the headboard. He lowered his tone. "Listen, you're scared and dealt with some nasty shit. I get it, man. I understand that you don't want to talk about it. Nobody wants to talk about their fears or traumatic experiences. We all have something that we don't wanna talk about."

Ponyboy blinked a few times, turning over to him in surprise. "Even you?"

Dally hated to admit it, but he nodded. "Even me."

When he received no reply, he continued, "I'm going to tell you something, but you have to promise me that you're not going to tell anyone. Think you can do that?"

"I can. I pinkie swear," Ponyboy answered, nodding his head feverishly and holding his pinkie finger out. Dally almost chuckled at how childish the motion was, but then he remembered that he was kidnapped when he was only six years old. A child in a teenager's body. It didn't matter what he went through, he never got the chance to be anything other than a little kid, a forced prostitute, or a victim. To humor him, Dally looped his pinkie finger with Pony's, giving it a small shake before letting it go. For the first time since coming back home, he saw the kid's eyes sparkle, lighting up the dark abysses.

"I used to get jumped all the time," Dally started, tilting his head back to stare at the popcorn ceiling. "I was so weak, man. I couldn't hold my own in a fight. This was before I met your brothers and the rest of the gang. Anyway, I was jumped so much that I feared walking around. I was looking over my shoulder wherever I went. I was so scared of people… even my own shadow."

"You were?" Ponyboy looked at him stupefied. That wasn't the Dally that was before him.

"I was. And you know how I got over it?"

"How?"

"I said, 'enough'. I didn't want to be scared and weak my entire life. So, I toughened up. I toughened up real good. I learned that I shouldn't have been scared because there was nothing to be scared about. I then met the gang and they made it a whole lot easier. I didn't feel so alone anymore, and I knew that I could rely on them if anything happened. That's why you should talk to us, man. We may not know exactly what you've been through, but we're here for you." Dally clasped his knees. "So, with that said, do you want to talk about your nightmare?"

When Ponyboy didn't say anything yet again, Dally sighed, standing up. He should have known that he wasn't going to get anywhere. He was about to leave the room when Ponyboy said in a small voice, "Thank you, Dally."

But, then again, maybe he did get somewhere.

* * *

* * *

Since the nightmare, Ponyboy had started to hang around Dally more, much to the surprise of the gang. They didn't know what happened, and when they asked, Dally would just shrug with a smirk on his face. Whenever he would be in the house, Ponyboy was practically hip to hip with him. He didn't mind, even letting him cling to his clothes sometimes.

Ponyboy still didn't talk about it, but he started to relax more around everyone, which they started to believe would never happen. They started to see him smile more, complexion becoming easier to look at as he healed. He even talked more in general. Everything was going well.

That was until Darry informed him that he was going back to school.

"What?" Soda choked, almost spitting out his chocolate milk. Ponyboy felt like spewing out the food that he ate himself.

"He needs to fully integrate himself back into society," Darry explained. "He hasn't been to school since he was six."

"That's exactly the reason why he shouldn't go! What if he's bullied?"

"He won't get bullied." Darry rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair after placing his mug down on the table.

"You don't know that," Soda scoffed, taking quick glances at Ponyboy who was staring holes at his plate with wide eyes.

"Bullying rarely happens."

"Most students are bullied in some way."

"I wasn't bullied."

It was Soda's turn to roll his eyes. "That's because you were one of the best players on the football team. Why can't we just homeschool him? It'll be the best option."

Darry shook his head, sighing. "I wish we could do that, but we can't afford it. We're still paying off Ponyboy's hospital bills and the therapist."

Ponyboy sank in his chair, which Soda didn't miss. He eyed at Darry pointedly, something he rarely ever does, wanting to reach over and hold his younger brother. "At least ask Ponyboy what he's comfortable with before making all of the decisions."

They both turned to Ponyboy, watching him sink even more under the eyes.

"Well, Ponyboy? What do you think?" Darry practically barked.

"I, uh… I…" Ponyboy choked out, feeling his body become incredibly hot and his sweat unbearably cold. He twitched, looking anywhere but his brothers. His eyes darted around the room, mouth becoming dry. His heart was drumming against his chest so loudly that he thought that Soda and Darry could hear it. "I…"

"Well? Spit it out!"

Ponyboy flinched, shutting his eyes tight.

' _I want you to speak to me, slut. I want to hear your voice as you scream my name.'_

His breath hitched, tears stinging the corners of his eyes as he shot up. His hip slammed against the edge of the table before he sprinted to his room, ignoring his brothers' calls. He slammed the door shut, sliding down it.

He couldn't do it. He wanted to be brave and tough, but he just wasn't any of those words. He wasn't like Dally or the rest of the gang. He was weak and dumb and dirty. He would be left alone at school, surrounded by people who would use him. The only thing that he was good for was sex, that's what his kidnapper told him every time he raped him, and Ponyboy believed it.

Body trembling, Ponyboy curled in on himself.

' _You like that, don't you, slut?'_

' _Your body is perfect for this.'_

' _You're really good at this. You must have had a lot of practice.'_

Ponyboy wanted the memories to stop resurfacing. He wished that he got amnesia when the fire happened. That way, he wouldn't be constantly hearing these voices in his head and wouldn't be seeing horrific images that he wanted to scrape out of his brain.

"Ponyboy?" came Soda's voice. There was a gentle knock on the door. "Can I come in?"

Shifting away from the door, Ponyboy hummed in answer. Soda crept inside and crouched down next to him.

"You alright?" he asked but Ponyboy kept his eyes trained to his toenails. "He shouldn't push you to do anything you're not ready to do."

"It's fine…" Ponyboy muttered.

"No, it's not fine. With all of the stuff that you were forced to do…" Soda shook his head. He didn't want to think about it. "What do you think about school?"

Ponyboy could only shrug. "I don't want to go but Darry's gonna make me. Why can't I drop out like you so I don't have to go? I'm no good at school now."

' _Sex is all you're going to be good for.'_

For a long moment, Soda had nothing to say because he knew that what Ponyboy said was true. He couldn't tell him that dropping out was a mistake because he didn't want to push him into going to school. He also couldn't sympathize with him because he didn't want to be the reason why he chooses to not go to school. It had to be his own decision. Soda was a terrible example for Ponyboy, but it wasn't his fault. It was how his life played out.

"It doesn't matter if you're good at school or not. You don't need perfect grades. Going depends on what you want. You have to make that decision on going or not," Soda said.

"What if…" Ponyboy started, pausing to dampen his chapped lips. "What if I don't know how to make a decision? I've never made one before."

Soda pressed his lips tightly together. He wasn't the type of person to start a fight randomly, but if the kidnapper was still alive, he would have torn him a new one. "Then we'll change the question. Are you ready to try something new? I'll support you no matter what."

Ponyboy thought back to his conversation with Dally after his nightmare—how he had learned to overcome his fear and better himself in general. He had to toughen up. Ponyboy needed to do that too. He was scared of many things and they were holding him back, shackling him to his past. The past was where his kidnapper was, where all of those men who had raped him was. The past was scary, but so was the future. School was going to terrify him, bringing forth unknown challenges. But he needed to be tough and it wasn't like he was going to go there alone. Some of the gang members were going to be there as well to support him. He could do it if they were there with him.

"I think… I think I am," Ponyboy spoke, nervously smiling at Soda. "I'll try."

* * *

* * *

Just like he had thought, Ponyboy was beyond scared. His legs trembled as he stared up at the tall building before him. People brushed by him and stared at him. It wasn't hard to recognize him. His face had been on newspapers and his now-horribly-scarred arms were still wrapped up in bandages. He practically looked like a mummy. He squirmed, trying to angle himself between the gang members that went to school to hide himself as best as he could.

A light pat touched his shoulder, causing him to jump. He spun around with wild eyes only to see Johnny smiling at him reassuringly.

"It's going to be okay," he said.

"Yeah, you're going to be fine," Two-Bit agreed.

Nodding, the group entered the congested school, pushing themselves to the office. Besides all the staring, everything went pretty well at first. They placed Ponyboy in regular classes, which was shocking to him. He would have thought they would have placed him in a special class or made him take a test to see where he was at in order to moderate his schedule accordingly.

So, there Ponyboy was, sitting in the back of his first class, shrinking into himself to lower his presence. He scratched the carvings on the desk. The words 'slut' and 'whore' etched out in clear, jagged letters. They were for another person, but he couldn't help but think that they were for him. Ponyboy swallowed, about to switch desks. However, before he could do that, the teacher started the lesson.

The class was hard, even though it was one of the "easiest" in the school. It was a math class—Algebra 1 to be exact. They didn't offer a math class lower than this one at the school apparently. The name itself was intimidating. Right away, his head started to pound as he stared at the chalkboard. Ponyboy, who still had to count on his fingers and only knew simple addition and subtraction, didn't understand anything that was being lectured. He didn't know what multiplication or division was. He didn't even know that you could have letters inside equations.

The class dragged on for what seemed like forever. Ponyboy scurried out the room after everyone left, gathering up his notebook that hardly had any notes in it. He gave up within five minutes of the class.

The next class wasn't any better. It was a physical education course, which shouldn't have been very hard. All he had to do was show moderate athleticism to do well. But that was the problem. Ponyboy had never worked out in his life and the most exercise that he got was when he was forced to ride someone during sex. Other than during sex, his life lacked movement, being stuck in the basement.

After he had changed (in the bathroom and not the locker room), he followed everyone to the track which he could visibly see heat radiate off of it.

Everyone was supposed to be running the mile. Ponyboy was placed in the slower running group and even with that, he was running last. Most of the students even lapped him. He only made it one lap before he collapsed on the turf. His legs felt like jelly and his sides were cramped up. He breathed heavily, sweat coming off him so heavily that they fell into the grass like raindrops. The coach was screaming at him to continue running, but after he sat down, he found that he didn't have enough energy to get himself back on his feet no matter how hard he tried. He was relieved when he made it back to the locker room, changing back into his regular clothes without taking a shower to wash off his sweat.

Then English came. Ponyboy used to love reading. It used to be one of his favorite leisure activities as a kid. He wondered what story they were going to be talking about. He was handed a beat-up copy of _The Grapes of Wrath_ before he could sit down. The class started with the students taking turns reading the pages out loud. Pony's eyes scanned the faded pages in front of him, noticing about a hundred words that he didn't know, let alone knew how to pronounce. He could hardly keep up with the students reading. Again, he felt sweaty, pressing his fingers into the pages.

_Don't call on me. Don't call on me._

But luck wasn't on his side. His name was called, and he opened his mouth, wanting to throw up.

"There… is… a… cr-cr-cr—" Ponyboy began to read, putting in long spaces between the words because that was how fast he could read. He used to be a great reader—one of the best in his class. But that was when he was in elementary school. Besides his slow reading speed, Ponyboy had a very limited vocabulary. His vocabulary consisted of vulgar keywords that were the most useful for his "clients".

"Crime," the teacher said with a frown.

"Crime…" he repeated. "There is a crime… here… goes… be-be—"

"Beyond."

"Beyond… de-den-denun—"

"Denunciation."

"Denunciation. There is a crime here goes beyond den-denunciation." Ponyboy was proud of himself for reading that sentence. However, nobody else was. The class burst out in laughter as they pointed their fingers at him.

"That guy can't even read!" one of them cackled.

"How stupid does someone have to be to read like that?" another joked, laughing so hard that they fell out of their chair.

"What's he doing in this class? The preschool is a few blocks away from here," came another voice.

Ponyboy's face was beet red, humiliation flooding to every curve of his body. He trembled, the room spinning around him.

"Mr. Curtis, are you alright?" the teacher asked him but it sounded far away. Blood was pumping in his ears. It occurred to him that he wasn't breathing correctly. He couldn't do it. The laughter and the stress were too much for him. He knew that he couldn't do it before. He wasn't ready for school. Before he knew what he was doing, he was running out of the classroom to the nearest bathroom.

He tumbled into the room, slamming the door open along the way. He made it to the sink, gripping the porcelain tightly within his hands. He was breathing hard. His breaths came out in quick bursts as if he had just run a marathon.

He needed to calm down. Ponyboy splashed water on his face, letting it cool down his body and wash the sweat off his face. Calm down, he repeated in his head. He just needed to take a deep breath and go to his happy place. He had created it when he was trapped in the basement to help him cope. It distracted him from looking into the lustful eyes of his clients and to help him pass time when he wasn't doing his job. His happy place was at the lake that his parents used to take him to. He could feel the gentle waves curl around his toes and the warm sun that came from the sunset as if he were there in person. Already, he could feel himself calm down.

Ponyboy was about to exit the bathroom when two Socs entered. They quickly locked eyes with him, a smile curling their lips up. It was that same smile that all those men gave him. Ponyboy's knees buckled, having to reach behind him and grab onto the sink again to hold himself up.

"Hey, look, it's the prostitute," one of them said, stepping closer to him. "What are you doing here? Did you just finish blowing someone?"

"Le-Leave me alone," Ponyboy pleaded with a shaky voice.

"I bet he'll let you do him for free. He probably likes being used," the other Soc said.

' _You like it. Tell me you like it!'_ a voice said in his head. Ponyboy shook his head to answer both the Soc and his memory.

"No," Ponyboy whimpered. "Let me through."

"Only if you suck us off, whore," one of the Socs spat. "I bet you're real good at it with all the practice you got."

' _Come on. It's a prize. If you do this, I'll play nice,'_ came another voice in his head.

Ponyboy swallowed thickly. There wasn't a reason to be afraid if he did what they asked of him. The only thing that he was good for was sex. It was what he was made to do; his calling. He was a whore, not a student. Without thinking much about it, Ponyboy started to lower himself down to his knees, feeling dirty again.

' _Your only worth is sex.'_

"Oh, shit, he's actually going to do it," one of the Socs said incredulously, laughing nervously.

Ponyboy's throat was dry as his eyes glazed over. He reached over, but before he could do anything, the door to the bathroom slammed open and Steve ran inside with fury in his eyes.

"Get away from him," he snarled, instantly socking one of the Socs in the face. The guy screamed out, head snapping back as he fell to the floor.

"Son of a bitch!" the Soc cursed as he shot back to his feet. "Why'd you punch me?"

"Yeah, we were only just messing around."

"It didn't look like that. Now, get lost," Steve barked, jerking his head to the door.

"Oh, yeah? What are you going to do if we don't?"

The Soc's friend grabbed his arm, shaking his head. He eyed Steve warily, squinting his eyes, and said, "We should just go. That's Steve Randle."

The first Soc's eyes opened in realization. He pointed at Steve, mouth gaping like a fish. "The greaser who pummeled all of those Socs with a busted bottle? Shit."

They looked at each other one last time before they backed away towards the door. Before the door could close behind them, they cursed them out, but Steve ignored them. He turned to Ponyboy, concern etched across his face.

"Are you okay?" he asked. Ponyboy stiffly nodded, standing up. His legs were like noodles, threatening to collapse. "Shit, kid, you look like a ghost. What did they do to you?"

"Nothing," Ponyboy muttered, not trusting himself to say more than that. Steve gave him a look so he corrected himself. "You came in before anything could happen… they asked me to… to…"

Understanding what he was going to say, Steve nodded. "You don't have to say it, kid. I get it."

Ponyboy pressed his palms into his eyes, feeling how wet they were. "I don't think I can do this… School, I mean. I don't understand anything. I can't keep up. I'm sorry. I'm a failure."

"No, you're not. You're making a huge jump by going here. It's going to be rough, but you'll get it, kid. Be strong, okay?"

"Yeah… I'll be strong."

* * *

* * *

It didn't get much better. The teachers were getting fed up with him not knowing the basics. He just couldn't do it no matter how much studying he put into it. The concepts were too hard to understand. On top of that, he was constantly bullied. It wasn't bad when the gang was there with him, but during class or when he was alone, it was brutal. They called him names, laughed at him, started to imitate him in class, shoved him, and threw items at him. Even the teachers were starting to make fun of him if they weren't showing their disappointment. It didn't take long for Ponyboy to start dreading school.

He worked hard and the gang all encouraged him. They helped him out whenever they could, which wasn't often enough. They struggled with school themselves. Steve was the most help. Darry would have been the ideal person to ask, but Ponyboy was scared of disappointing him, so he never went to him.

Then report cards came and suddenly the downhill he was tumbling down became steep.

A paper slammed down in front of Ponyboy one day, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. Darry was glaring at him, eyes so sharp that it felt like he was shot.

"Ponyboy, can you tell me what this is?" Darry bitterly asked.

"My report card?" Ponyboy answered, voice small.

"And do you see the problem with it?"

Ponyboy looked at the paper, seeing his grades, which were all failing. There was a bold 'F' on every line. He gulped. "My grades."

"Yes, your grades! What happened, Ponyboy? I want to know. How does a person fail physical education? You just have to move around."

There was a wetness at the corners of Ponyboy's eyes. He pressed his fingers into his arms, letting his nails pierce his skin. "I'm sorry… I'm trying my best."

"You've been going to school for a while now. What's going on?"

' _You disappointed me, again. Clients are not happy with you. You know what means, right?'_

"I'm sorry," Ponyboy whimpered. He's going to be punished, forced to take some sort form of torture or even forced to have sex with more people than usual. His brothers wouldn't do that to him, but what if? He couldn't help but overthink it. What if his brothers make him use his body for money?

"Darry, lay off him, man," Dally warned from the living room.

"Yeah, he went from first grade to high school," Two-Bit agreed. "Give him a break."

Darry shook his head, a frown on his face. Golly, was Darry angry.

"He needs to integrate back into society," he hissed, crumpling up the report card into a ball and throwing it into the garbage can as hard as he could.

"There are easier ways to do it," Steve argued. "He's being bullied in school and is having a hard time. He's being forced to do algebraic equations when the last math that he did was right after he learned basic addition and subtraction. Yeah, I don't see the problem here." The last part was said sarcastically.

"It's perfectly reasonable if he wasn't being so disappointing."

The house instantly went silent as they stared at Darry with wide mouths. Darry was matching the expression, horrified at what he had said. He quickly turned back to Ponyboy who looked like he was about to cry.

"Ponyboy, I'm—" Darry started to apologize but he didn't get the chance to finish the sentence because Ponyboy had already gotten up and walked to his room.

* * *

* * *

Failure! Disappointment!

Those words rang in his head as he pulled at his hair. Tears were falling from his eyes in frustration, humiliation, shame, and fear. It was overwhelming him, drowning him in waters that failed to kill him. Why was he such a failure to everyone? He failed the gang, his parents, his clients, and the man who had kidnapped him. It wasn't fair. Why him? Why did he have to go through it? Why couldn't he just have been killed from the get-go? That would have saved his parents' lives and he wouldn't be such a disappointment to everyone around him.

Ponyboy pounded his fists into his thighs, screaming into his own mouth. He kept punching and punching, legs growing number with each hit.

Darry hated him, but he hated himself the most. Each hit was a punishment. It was something that he did when he was kidnapped. It helped him not make the same mistake twice. The sting was a reminder.

He kept punching himself, probably bruising his legs at how much force he was putting into each blow.

Failure.

Hit.

Disgusting.

Hit.

Whore.

Hit.

Slut.

Hit.

Killer.

Before he could hit himself again, a hand wrapped around his wrist, stopping him. Ponyboy's vision was blurred with tears, snot drooling out of his nose. He clenched his teeth. All of a sudden, someone was wrapping him in a hug, causing him to tense up.

"Sorry, Ponyboy," came Darry's voice. "I'm so sorry."

Ponyboy was very aware of the other people in the room, but he started to cry like never before. Darry continued to hold him, not dropping his arms for a second. He let him cry and maybe if he was able to focus his eyes, he could have seen the few tears that escaped Darry's.

"I'm sorry for making you hate me," Ponyboy cried, hiccupping between each word. Darry pulled away to hold his head in his hands.

"I don't hate you. I love you. You're my kid brother," he reassured. "I shouldn't have snapped at you. I know that you're trying your hardest and transitioning hasn't been the easiest. You're not doing anything wrong."

"I am. I can't do anything right. Everything is my fault."

"Nothing is your fault."

"No," Ponyboy whimpered, shaking his head with a huge pout on his face. He probably looked so ugly with his red, puffy eyes and downturned expression. "You don't understand. You should hate me."

"Why do you say that?" Johnny asked, looking at him with his head cocked to the side.

"I should have been the one to die."

"Pony, what are you talking about?" Soda asked, placing a hand on his shoulder.

Ponyboy hiccupped loudly, throat feeling raw. "I… I killed them. I killed Mom and Dad. I killed them dead."

The room went cold as nobody knew what to say. It wasn't the first time that Soda and Darry heard him talk about it. The first time was in the hospital, but they had dismissed it. They didn't understand what he had been insinuating. How could a six-year-old murder their parents right after he had been missing?

"What are you saying?" Soda asked, lips pressing themselves into a thin line. "They were killed in a car accident."

"I was bad. I misbehaved. He got angry with me and told me that he was going to kill them if I didn't follow instructions. I misbehaved and he punished me. He messed with their cars and blew it up so he wouldn't get caught. It was my fault. I killed them."

Again, there was a long silence as they processed his words. He definitely wasn't lying. How could anybody lie about that? It didn't sit right.

"Ponyboy, that doesn't mean you killed them," Soda said.

"Yeah, he was probably already planning on killing them but he wanted to scare you as well," Two-Bit reasoned.

"He said that he was going to kill my brothers too, but he didn't because I did what he said," Ponyboy continued. "It worked but Mom and Dad are still dead. It's my fault. I'm a disappointment. I'm not good at school and I killed them. The only thing that I'm good for is—"

"Don't say it," Darry ordered. "Don't belittle yourself like that."

"But it's my fault."

"No. If anything, it would be my fault. I didn't know what you were feeling or what you were going through. I was blinded by a false image of having a perfectly functioning family. I didn't listen to you or anybody else. You're worth so much more than what you think you are."

"I'm not good at school though."

"You're great at school. The thing is, you weren't ready to make such a big jump. It doesn't make you dumb or a failure if you struggle. You're so bright." There was a pause as Darry pulled away from his brother. "Ponyboy, I promise that I'll make it easier for you. You'll get used to the flow of things at your own pace. I'll…" He looked at the gang. "We'll help you out. Lean on us as much as you need to. We'll make sure to help you every step of the way. I know that it's going to take time, but you've already gotten so far. You're doing so well and I'm proud of you."

Ponyboy sniffled. Every step of the way. They were going to be there for him no matter what. They were going to protect him. For the first time in a long time, Ponyboy felt safe. He was probably not going to be able to recover. That's what trauma did. But he could still learn to cope and he could gain new experiences that he could cling onto that would overshadow his memories of sex trafficking. They were going to be great memories with new scents and new sights. But most of all, they were going to replace the scent of gasoline and the cigarettes that he had smoked.


End file.
